It was dinner-time—­for they dined at night now, in some state—­and they sat down to four dainty courses, cooked and served by the capable Henderson.  The table was a round one, so small that the two men could have shaken hands across it without the smallest exertion.  By old Surface’s plate stood a gold-topped bottle, containing, not the ruddy burgundy which had become customary of late, but sparkling champagne.  Surface referred to it, gracefully, as his medicine; doctors, he said, were apparently under the delusion that schoolmasters had bottomless purses.  To this pleasantry Queed made no reply.  He was, indeed, spare with his remarks that evening, and his want of appetite grieved old Henderson sorely.

The servant brought the coffee and retired.  He would not be back again till he was rung for:  that was the iron rule.  The kitchen was separated from the dining-room by a pantry and two doors.  Thus the diners were as private as they were ever likely to be in this world, and in the breast of one of them was something that would brook no more delay.

“Professor,” said this one, with a face which gave no sign of inner turmoil, “I find myself obliged to refer once more to—­an unwelcome subject.”

Surface was reaching for his coffee cup; he was destined never to pick it up.  His hand fell; found the edge of the table; his long fingers gripped and closed over it.

“Ah?” he said easily, not pretending to doubt what subject was meant.  “I’m sorry.  I thought that we had laid the old ghosts for good.”

“I thought so, too.  I was mistaken, it seems.”

Across the table, the two men looked at each other.  To Surface, the subject must indeed have been the most unwelcome imaginable, especially when forced upon him with so ominous a directness.  Yet his manner was the usual bland mask; his face, rather like a bad Roman senator’s in the days of the decline, had undergone no perceptible change.

“When I came here to live with you,” said Queed, “I understood, of course, that you would be contributing several times as much toward our joint expenses as I. To a certain degree, you would be supporting me.  Naturally, I did not altogether like that.  But you constantly assured me, you may remember, that you would rather put your savings into a home than anything else, that you could not manage it without my assistance, and that you considered my companionship as fully offsetting the difference in the money we paid.  So I became satisfied that the arrangement was honorable to us both.”

Surface spoke with fine courtesy.  “All this is so true, your contribution toward making our house a home has been so much greater than my own, that I feel certain nothing can have happened to disturb your satisfaction.”

“Yes,” said Queed.  “I have assumed all the time that the money you were spending here was your own.”

There was a silence.  Queed looked at the table-cloth.  He had just become aware that his task was hateful to him.  The one thing to do was to get it over as swiftly and decisively as possible.